The Season of the Wolf
by EmeraldStarOfTheSouthernIsles
Summary: In the cold depths of winter, savage predators stalk the land, seeking out what they can in the barren forests and fields. And in the cold depths of winter, savage death will seek them out... Three chapters in total when finished. Nuada.


_Disclaimer:__ I don't own any of the Hellboy characters, settings, etc. The original characters and plot of this story are mine though. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work._

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******A/N: **About the story below, it's an extended version of one of Nuada's memories in Chapter 34 (or Chapter 35 according to FF's numbering system) of my story, Dragon-Cursed. Hope you enjoy it. Please also see the other author note below regarding the artwork for this story.

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_**Circa 1700B  
**_The bleak, grey sky pressed in around the woodland clearing as the low light of the season cut across the surrounding coppice and threw the landscape into sharp relief. A light fall of snow lay cold and stark on the earth, frosting the bare limbs of the trees and doing its indifferent best to conceal all signs of the atrocities committed here in hours not long past.

However, the fine mantle did not - could not - deceive the sharp eyes of the watching warriors. The great war horses beneath them stamped their hooves on the frozen ground and snorted impatiently whilst the _madraí cogadh_ growled and yelped as if protesting the sudden stop. But the riders paid no heed to either the demands of the spirited stallions or the complaints of the dogs. Nor did they remark the bitter cold, which cut through even the thick weave of their fur-lined cloaks and seeped in under their armour. Breath turned to mist in the frigid air as, transfixed, they beheld the awful sight before them. Though most were full-used to the grim realities of battle, here was a scene of such devastation and carnage as few had ever seen before even despite nature's efforts to erase the ugliness.

A small settlement, which had once thrived with all the life and activity of a dozen or so families, now lay silent and dead, the lifeless remains of its inhabitants wrapped in the white winding sheet of winter and the charred ruins of their homes no longer anything more than dirty smudges against the pristine landscape. Elven blood mingled with the blood of slaughtered livestock... and with that of several humans who also lay dead on the ground, the remains of _their_ earthly flesh telling the likely story of what had happened here.

For long moments, no one spoke; what words could be said in the face of such slaughter as they saw all about them? Hard, lapidified bodies – warm, living, and breathing once – lay with legs splayed wide, the obscene angles attesting to the fate those now-lifeless women had endured before they died. Other bodies - the largest ones - lay in pieces, the hewn parts offering silent proof of the fierce fighting that had gone on in the forest glade. But it was the smallest and most fragile of the bodies which bore the worst signs of brutal use; those tiny remains looked like nothing so much as the discarded playthings of cruel, vicious minds... minds that seemed to know nothing of mercy, in any guise.

His horse snorted and shifted impatiently under him once more, this time capturing the young elven warrior's attention. He tore his unwilling gaze – all flashing fire and fierce gold rage - from the ghastly, desolate scene as he leaned forward to give his steed a pat. The comforting touch was as much for himself as for his mount; the long fall of his pale, gilt-tipped hair shielded his face from the others in the detachment as he struggled to assert his will against the feelings that roiled within. Though he'd served his time in the ranks of his father's army, this was only his second command and for the briefest instant he felt the full weight of his relative inexperience. But a black, burning anger rose to the fore, and Nuada pushed aside the uncharacteristic moment of self-doubt.

He lifted his head resolutely and turned in the saddle to face the other warriors under his command. He'd just opened his mouth to order them to set about seeing to the dead and restoring what order and dignity they could to the abused and broken bodies of their kinsfolk when a loud, keening wail rent the still air. He whipped around towards the sound and spied a young elven woman standing frozen on the opposite edge of the clearing, gazing on in horror at the wreckage of the settlement. Just behind her was a much younger male, barely more than a child really. He too looked shocked and upset.

As the woman's wail died away, from deep in the forest behind her came an answering cry: the bone-chilling howl of a lone wolf. But the woman didn't move; she continued to stand like a statue, oblivious to the danger that lurked in the trees as she stared at the ruins of her village. The youth, though, glanced down worriedly at the carcass of a slain goat lying just to the side of them and started to tug on the woman's sleeve, but to no avail; she didn't so much as even blink, so fixed was she on the scene before her.

Nuada frowned and, after motioning for one of his comrades to follow, gathered up the reins as he urged his horse forward with a gentle nudge of his knees. He knew the danger the woman and youth were in even though a dozen armed and mounted warriors and a pack of elven war dogs stood close by. In this season, the Season of the Wolf, the starving predators were often driven to desperate measures by the scarcity of food, and he was well aware that in the short time it would take either his warriors or the _madraí cogadh_ to reach the pair, the creature lurking in the trees could cause much damage to them if it thought they were standing between it and a few snatched morsels of food.

As he rode around the edge of the clearing, over to where the woman and youth were standing, he drew his sword; gleaming elven silver hissed against leather-bound wood. He reined in his horse when still some feet away from the pair and scanned the trees behind them, his sharp eyes looking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, he instructed his companion to keep watch, and then swung down from the saddle and walked over to the stricken villagers.

"Máistreás," he said, addressing the woman and holding out his gloved hand to her. "We should move to the other side of the clearing. There is greater safety in numbers."

She neither moved nor spoke but only stared blankly at the wreckage of her life, spread out starkly before her.

"Máistreás?" he prompted.

Still, she made no reply.

Nuada swung his gaze to the youth. "What is her name?"

"She is my sister, sir - Sadhbh," replied the young lad as he glanced anxiously at her. "She - she will be worried for her... her babe," he added, his voice trailing off as his eyes were drawn to a ruined home on the far side of the village.

A dark frown settled on Nuada's face as he turned his head and followed the line of the youth's gaze; Máistreás Sadhbh was not likely to find her child alive; her home had burned to ashes and her child likely turned to dust with it. A hot sheet of anger sliced through him at the thought and he pushed it down sharply before looking back to the distraught woman. He reached out to take her by the arm, intending to lead her away, but suddenly, she moved, galvanised by the ancient Gods only knew what.

She brushed past Nuada and ran into the centre of the razed settlement. For a moment she stood and glanced around wildly, and then she ran towards her burnt-out home and started tearing frantically at the ruins with her bare hands, muttering all the while in low, disbelieving tones.

Nuada turned to the youth. "Go to the other side of the clearing," he said, pointing in the direction of the other warriors. "I will see to your sister."

The lad ran towards the group of elven fighters and Nuada quickly made for the young woman, sheathing his sword as he went. He tried speaking to her but she would not listen, and he tried taking hold of her but she only pushed him away, her desperation lending her a strength she might not have otherwise had. For the second time that day, Nuada found himself at a loss; he did not want to hurt the woman by forcing her to leave off her futile search, though he knew it might come to that, and all he could do was stare helplessly at her for some moments.

... ...

From the other side of the clearing, Uileog de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar watched the newly-commissioned _captaen; _he cut a tall, commanding figure in dark brown and black. Uileog had a heavy frown on his grizzled brow; the scene they'd come upon had shocked even him, one of the oldest and longest-serving warriors in the _Cosantóirí Bethmooran an Fae, _and he'd quickly realised that here was a hard test indeed for his young charge, for _Rí_ Balor had entrusted to Uileog the task of watching over his son in these early days of the prince's command.

On this particular day, following reports of increased human activity in the area, Nuada had taken a detachment from the _Gardaí Capall_ to patrol the southern borderlands and ensure the humans did not encroach too far onto Fae land as they were wont to do from time to time. One of the scouts had returned with a report of smoke rising from behind a distant ridge, and the company had gone to investigate.

_And what a discovery to make_, thought Uileog as his eyes flickered briefly over the carnage in the clearing once more. He returned his gaze to the lean, powerful frame of the proud, young warrior; even at this age, the prince showed a strength of mind, body and spirit that marked him out as a natural leader. But Uileog noted a seldom seen air of uncertainty about Nuada now as he watched the distressed mother in her feverish search. The older elf was about to head over to see if he couldn't offer a suggestion or two, when the prince seemed to make up his mind to something.

... ...

Turning to the warrior standing guard, the elven prince called for him to continue with that task, and then quickly remounted his own horse and rode back to the main group. On reaching the others, he snapped out a series of orders, his commanding voice ringing clear and confident in the cold, still air. Another three fighters were dispatched to help stand guard around the perimeter of the clearing and a further warrior was ordered to keep a close watch over the young woman as she went about her desperate search. Nuada then instructed the young lad to help his sister as best he could, and the rest of the company were set to feeding and watering the horses and then gathering up the dead.

He looked on grimly as they went about their appointed tasks. Crown Prince of Bethmoora though he was, yet his commission had not been handed to him on a plate; he'd had to earn it in the same way as every other _captaen_ in the _Cosantóirí Bethmooran an Fae_, and he knew that here and now he must prove his worth to his king and his people, and serve them to the best of his ability. They could not afford for him to be indecisive, and he swore to himself there'd be no more lapses that day.

Out in the trees, the wolf howled once more and this time, other ravening voices joined in. At the sound of the chilling chorus, the elven war dogs increased their fretful pacing, pausing every now and then to bare their fangs and snarl at the unseen foe in the woods. Nuada knew that if he but said the word, they'd be off like lightning and the starving wolves would not stand a chance against them.

Barking out a sharp order to the dogs, he called them to heel and swung down from his horse once more. Crouching down before the dogs, he removed one of his thick leather gloves as they sniffed at him and pushed their noses against him. "Patience, my friends," he murmured, stroking the head of the alpha dog and tickling it behind its ears. "You may yet get your chance with the wolves but for now we have another quarry to run to ground." His hard, chiselled features twisted in sneering disdain as he thought about the base creatures who'd done this to his people.

A sudden retching from behind Nuada startled him and he stood swiftly, pulling on his glove again and sending the dogs scampering. Turning around, he saw one of the other young warriors, Cearul, leaning against a blackened piece of upright timber and gritting his teeth as his stomach heaved. He was staring in horror at something on the ground in front of him.

Nuada quickly crossed over to him and when he saw what the other elf was looking at, he almost retched himself. In amongst the burnt timbers, Cearul had discovered three elven babes impaled end to end on a long, bronze-tipped pikestaff, their little faces twisted in torment and their tiny mouths frozen forever in now-silent screams of agony.

He hadn't thought it possible but Nuada's hatred for the unknown human assailants suddenly soared. His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed with fierce flame-gold fury. An overwhelming urge to kill consumed him, and his muscles instinctively flexed and hardened in readiness. Drawing several deep breaths, he did his best to tamp down the insistent demand and finally, he regained some semblance of control. He knelt down beside the sad, abused little forms and stared at them for a long moment, his mouth a thin, dark line of anger and the long fall of his pale hair swaying as he shook his head in grim disbelief. But the terrible, heart-rending sight could not be denied.

He reached out a pale, white hand and lightly touched the wood of the pikestaff. Though he hadn't been able to save their innocent lives, there was one last thing he could do for slaughtered elven babes. Throwing his head back, he looked up to the sky and summoned the magic of his kind from within the gossamer threads of Light that were woven through the very fabric of Eternity itself. As he murmured the words of enchantment in the ancestral tongue of his people, a soft, golden glow emanated from his hands and the wooden staff slowly turned to mist until at last, there was no trace left of the brutal weapon except for the bronze tip. The magic faded and Nuada looked back down at the perfectly-formed little bodies, free now from their cruel prison. He then carefully picked up one small form and twisted round to hand the girl-child up to Cearul, who had regained his composure by now and was standing behind Nuada, watching on.

Without a word - for what words could there possibly be - Cearul took the dead babe from his _captaen's_ hands and headed over to where the other bodies had been laid out while Nuada gathered up the two remaining children - boys both - and stood. Cradling them gently in his arms, he followed Cearul and after laying them down beside the body of one of the adults, he turned his attention back to the scene around him.

As he stood there, clenching his fists and staring at the wreckage through a black-gold haze of anger, another of the younger warriors, Lorcan, approached.

"What about the humans, sir?" he asked hurriedly as he reached Nuada.

"What about them?" Nuada countered, skewering him with a sharp, auriferous look.

"Sh-should we bury them now or-or later, s-sir? A-after we've performed the _d-deasghnátha naofa_," said Lorcan, suddenly unsure of his ground. He'd never seen his _captaen_ in such a dark mood though admittedly, he hadn't served long with him.

The other elf's bewilderment pierced the shield of Nuada's rage and the elven prince drew a deep, steadying breath as he attempted to rein in his temper; it was not well done of him to take his anger out on the younger warrior. Although at present he didn't want to think about humans in any other context than that of killing them, he forced his mind to Lorcan's question.

It was the practice of the Fae to respect the bodies of the dead, including those of fallen foe, but having seen how the humans had treated his own people this day, the gorge rose in Nuada's throat at the thought of offering even the smallest token of regard to the half-dozen or so fleshly corpses that lay scattered amongst the elven dead. As he considered his dilemma, from deep in the forest the wolves' eerie chorus suddenly resonated with renewed urgency.

Nuada swung his head towards the sound and stared narrowly at the bare, snow-covered trees from where it had come. Piercing howls cut the air once more and suddenly, a ruthless but entirely fitting solution presented itself to him though he knew that later, when he made his report to the king – to his father – he would be held to account for it.

He turned back to Lorcan. "No!" he answered, without the slightest hesitation. "Take their filthy carcasses to the edge of the clearing, along with those of the slaughtered livestock. Their own kind did not bother to attend to them and nor will we! The wolves may do with them as they wish!"

Lorcan started in surprise at the instruction.

"But remember," Nuada said, "keep back a piece of clothing – the _madraí cogadh_ will need it later... for the scent!"

For the briefest instant, Lorcan baulked at leaving the human remains for the wolves, but as he looked into the hard, dark-gold eyes of his _captaen_, a grim sense of rightness settled upon him. He'd seen such things this day as he never wished to see again and though his was only to obey, he found himself in complete agreement with the prince. Unable to hide the cold gleam of satisfaction in his own eyes, he inclined his head in acknowledgment of his orders and went off to carry them out.

Nuada frowned slightly as he watched him go. The younger warrior had reminded him of the need to perform the Rites for the Dead in respect of their slain kinsfolk, and carry out the Purification Ritual; the ancient Gods needed to be appeased and the woodland cleansed of the dark stain which now hung over it. Only _then_ could they appease their own need to see justice served and set out after the remainder of the humans who had murdered their people.

The elven prince quickly spied out Uileog and went to consult with the older elf on the requirements for the _Deasghnátha na Marbh_ and the _Dóiteán Íonú. _They hadn't been talking long when Tadhg, another of the warriors, suddenly cried out to his companions. "Over here! I've found a survivor!"

At his call, Nuada and Uileog broke off their conversation and hastened over to him. Under the blackened timbers of a fallen dwelling, Tadhg had discovered a boy of some fourteen or fifteen summers. The youth was badly burnt, no doubt in the fire which had destroyed his home, and was near insensate with shock and pain. Though their kind could withstand such flame and heat as would quickly kill almost anything else, yet they weren't wholly immune to it, and so much of this lad's flesh had been consumed by the conflagration that it was clear his case was dire indeed. Nuada and Uileog joined Tadhg, kneeling at the injured boy's side; all three warriors had grim expressions on their faces.

"He will not survive," said Uileog, a look of sadness chasing over his weathered face. "Not even the most skilled of the elven healers can help him now. All we can do is make his last moments on this earth as comfortable as possible."

"Are you sure..." began Nuada, glancing up sharply. He didn't finish the question; Uileog was already shaking his head and the look on his face gave the elven prince all the answer he needed. Nuada's lips compressed in anger and he looked back down at the youth.

"Lend your hands to him," said Uileog as he placed his own on the boy's chest. Nuada and Tadhg did as he requested and the three of them called upon their magic. As the soft, golden glow radiated from their hands, the older elf whispered the words of enchantment to ease the boy's passing.

An expression of calm soon fell across the dying youth's face and for a short while he recovered his senses. In a hoarse and broken voice, he told of how a large band of human marauders had ridden into the village and attacked without warning. Though the elven farmers had mounted a valiant defence, the raiders had greatly outnumbered them and held the upper hand from the start. They'd been after both livestock and the precious metals from which the elves forged their tools and weapons. Before they looted the village, they'd raped the women and then put everyone to the sword, from the most ancient of the elders to the very newest of the young.

The expressions on the warriors' faces grew fiercer and fiercer as the boy recounted his tale, and Nuada vowed silently – and not for the first time that day - that the humans involved would pay dearly for their base, depraved actions.

At last, the fatally injured youth passed on and his blackened, stone body was laid out too with those of his kith and kin. Some few other wounded elves had been found amongst the fallen but being as injured as they were, none survived, and it was with heavy hearts that the warriors laid out the last of the cold, stone remains in readiness for the _deasghnátha naofa_.

As Uileog prepared for the rituals - for being the eldest and most experienced there, he would lead them - Nuada went to check on the young elven mother. She was still searching through the ruins, and with only a little less fervour than before. Her simple clothes and slender, white hands were blackened with soot, and her cheeks were smudged and dirty. And whether she trembled from the effort of her labours or from the depth of her distress, Nuada couldn't say. He looked down at the woman's brother, who was standing next to him, watching her forlornly.

"How are you bearing up?" he asked as he laid a hand on the youth's shoulder. The lad too, was trembling.

"I-I don't know," replied the young elf, the bewilderment and grief clear in his voice.

"Tell me how you came to escape the slaughter here," said Nuada, wanting to know the pair's story.

"We – we were gathering wild thyme, and other winter herbs... in - in the woods, on the other side of the ridge," replied the boy. "We – we had no idea..." His voice trailed off and there was a pause. "What – what will happen to us now?" he asked, with apprehension.

"We'll take you back to Bethmoora with us. The king will see to your welfare," Nuada assured him. "First though, we will hunt down the rest of the filth that did this and make sure they pay for their transgressions," he added, his voice suddenly hardening.

The boy shot him a worried look, which Nuada correctly interpreted. "I'll leave a guard here with you and your sister, and we'll come back for you once we've..." He halted and tried to erase the sneering expression from his face. "Once we've done with the other business."

The young elf nodded, satisfied with that, and turned his attention back to his sister.

"Tell her we are about to start the rituals," Nuada directed. "She will have to stop for those." It was clear from his tone there would be no compromise on that point; the elven prince held the rites and rituals of his people dear, and accorded them the reverence they were due. "Can you make her listen, do you think?" he asked, his pale brow creasing slightly. He would prefer she left off her futile search of her own accord rather than requiring him to force her away from it.

"I'll see to it that she does," the youth quickly replied.

"Good lad," said Nuada, his lips quirking slightly at the boy's sudden determination. "What is your name?"

"Faolán, sir," replied the boy, with quiet pride.

Nuada stared at him for a long moment. "You have had to grow up quickly this day, Faolán," he murmured at last, giving the boy an inscrutable look. "I wish it were otherwise. See to your sister now." He then left the young elf to the job of persuading the woman to cease in her efforts, at least for the duration of the ceremonies.

... ...

It was now late afternoon and at last, all was ready for the necessary rites. Though it hadn't been easy, Faolán had in fact convinced Sadhbh to leave off her search for the moment and attend to the observance of the rituals, and he stood with her alongside the warriors who'd been tasked with providing a guard for them. Using the magic of their kind, the other elves had restored some semblance of order and dignity to their slain kinsfolk, and it was now time to start the ceremonies. The dark-clad forms of the living alternated with amber-coloured clusters of the dead to make a large circle in the middle of the clearing; the fallen would be included in one last act of magic before they were consigned back to the care of the earth.

The _Dóiteán Íonú_ was the first ritual to be performed; the glade had to be rid of the weight of the day's dark deeds before the Rites for the Dead could be undertaken. Uileog was to lead the proceedings and as elven royalty, Nuada stood opposite him, on the western point of the circle. The older elf raised his arms and began chanting in his ancestral tongue. As he intoned the words of summoning, calling forth the cleansing fire, the others raised their arms and touched the stone bodies on either side of them, forming a link between the world of the living and the land of the ancestors, and lending their magic to the task.

In the centre of the circle, a white-gold light appeared and all around it, in the grey, winter gloom, a delicate, ethereal flame began to burn, sparkling and shimmering as if with evanescent flecks of sunlight. At the same time, a faint, tinkling, harmony chimed through the air, and elven ears hearkened to the sound, delighting in its celestial notes. Fine filaments of golden fire spread out from the centre of the white-gold light, and soon the whole clearing was agleam with a myriad of glittering flames which neither scorched nor singed but rather burnt just above the ground with exquisite, radiant brightness. And although the land lay fast in the grip of winter and spring was many weeks distant, a soft, delicate perfume filled the air as though the fields and meadows had suddenly bloomed with the all budding, vernal life of a thousand flowers.

As Uileog worked the enchantment, the dark, heavy air which hung over the glade grew lighter and the suffocating, grey cloak of the clouds rolled back. Breath came more easily, and it struck Nuada that he hadn't realised until then just how oppressive the atmosphere had been. By the time the magic fire burnt itself out, none could be in any doubt that the ancient Gods were appeased and the stain of the day's events now lifted from the clearing.

With the land being so tended to, it was time to mind the dead. Uileog began to intone the words which would mark their journey to the realm of the ancestors and consign their lapidified remains back to the care of the cleansed earth. Though they would dwell for all time in the memory of their people - travelling with them down through the ages, as the dead do - their light was now lost to this world and would remain, from this day forward, forever hidden from earthly eyes.

Nuada's mind wandered as the familiar words of farewell washed over him. He looked at those gathered round the clearing with him, the living and the dead, and from somewhere - he knew not where - came the passing thought that it would be a hard fate indeed to die alone, in darkness, amongst strangers and unremarked by the rites and rituals of his people. He shook off the disturbing image. Such a fate would not be his; he would never stand so far apart from his kind that it came to that.

His golden eyes no longer burned with rage; rather they flickered thoughtfully over the lapidified figures in the circle. Those kinsfolk would lie here now, the planes, angles and curves of life slowly wearing away in the weather of the centuries until at last, there would be no vestige of the people they'd once been. Lichen would cover the smooth, pale, amber-coloured stones, and birds and insects would alight on their surfaces from time to time. Others of their kind – the living – might pass by every now and then, and stop to rest their backs against the solid forms for a while as they paused in their journeys. And the dead would continue to stand in the glade, silent sentinels for all seasons, until the tide of time finally wore them away.

As Nuada stared at the stone figures, a shaft of sunlight sheeted through the trees and over his shoulder, striking the snow in front of him and turning it for an instant into a glistening ripple of sun-dappled silver. Then the sun sank below the horizon and the effect was gone, along with the last remnants of the day. For some moments, all within the glade was quiet and motionless, as if time itself had stopped. But the rituals were performed and night was falling, and the silent still soon passed.

And as the darkness gathered, Nuada discovered that his burning, seething anger had coalesced and solidified into a cold, hard fury that would only be satisfied when the vicious miscreants who'd dealt so savagely with his kind that day had been brought to account. It was time to turn their minds to more mundane, corporeal matters, namely the hunting down of those depraved creatures, and the meting out of elven justice to avenge the needless deaths of the people of the forest.

The warriors moved off, leaving only those silent dead to form the circle now. No orders were necessary; each elf knew what was required. It was the night of the Quiet Moon, and the silver light of the celestial sphere would suffice for elven eyes to see by as they went about their work.

First, they saw to the woman and youth, erecting a rough shelter for them and fortifying it with a stronghold charm which would conceal them and provide some measure of protection. Three warriors would also remain to stand guard until the main party returned.

Next, they lightened the load on their horses. The spirited steeds had been well-rested in the hours since the company first discovered the razed settlement but much would be asked of them that night; the ride would be hard, and the fighting harder. Bedrolls were dispensed with, and food was cooked and eaten. Heavy cloaks would not be needed, though armour would. And finally, each warrior would carry only one weapon, and so a collection of arms was piled up against the fortified shelter for later retrieval.

Nuada walked over to those of the company who were to remain behind and stand guard. "We'll be back by dawn," he said. "Humans travel neither quickly nor by night, and our business with them will be concluded before the sun rises. See that the woman and boy are ready to travel by then. _We_ will rest when we return to Bethmoora."

"Yes, sir," replied one of the elves.

Satisfied that there was nothing more to be done, Nuada strode over to his horse and swung up onto its back with an easy, fluid grace that spoke of long hours spent in the saddle. The light pressure of his knees guided his mount to the centre of the clearing, where the rest of the company waited.

Suddenly, the wind picked up and from deep in the trees, came the bone-chilling howls of the wolves once more; they seemed to sense that they were not the quarry this night.

The elven war dogs were given the scent of the humans and at Nuada's command, set off across the clearing, low, threatening growls issuing from their throats and fangs bared as they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

Nuada then gave the word to the eager, impatient warriors. With soft, clicking sounds, they gave their horses their heads and in the blink of an eye, the great war stallions were following the _madraí cogadh_. They fairly flew over the cold, hard ground, their nostrils flaring, their dark eyes flashing, and the drumming of their hooves thundering out into in the night.

The wild ride had begun and at its head was Nuada, his powerful, muscled frame leaning over the withers, and his long, gilt-tipped hair streaming silver in the moonlight. He looked back once, and then no more; his dark lips formed a thin line of uncompromising determination against the pale, stone-chiselled planes of his face... and his hard, flame-gold eyes were filled with cold, certain death.

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**Refer****ences:**

Captaen: (Irish Gaelic) captain.

Cearul (KAR-ul): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'fierce in battle'.

Cosantóirí Bethmooran an Fae: (Irish Gaelic) The Bethmooran Defenders of the Fae (the army).

Deasghnátha na Marbh: (Irish Gaelic) Rites for the Dead.

Deasghnátha naofa: (Irish Gaelic) sacred rituals.

Dóiteán Íonú: (Irish Gaelic) Purification Ritual. (Dóiteán = 'fire', meaning cleansing fire in this sense.)

Faolán(FEH-lahn or FAY-lawn): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'wolf'.

Gardaí Capall na Bethmoora: (Irish Gaelic) The Horse Guards of Bethmoora (the cavalry).

Lapidify: To change to stone [from French _lapidifier,_ from Medieval Latin _lapidificāre,_ ultimately from Latin _lapis_ stone].

Lorcan (LOR-kawn): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'silent' or 'fierce'.

Madraí cogadh: (Irish Gaelic) war dogs.

Máistreás: (Irish Gaelic) Mistress.

Quiet Moon: Celtic name for the full moon in January.

Rí: (Irish Gaelic) King.

Sadhbh(SAH-eev): (Irish Gaelic) name likely meaning 'sweet' or 'goodness'.

Season of the Wolf: in old Europe, winter was known as the Season of the Wolf because wolves were forced by a scarcity of food to leave the forests and scavenge in outlying villages.

Tadhg (TAYG): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'poet' or 'philosopher'.

Uileog de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar: (Irish Gaelic) Uileog (IH-lig) – name meaning 'resolute protector'; de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar – phrase meaning 'of wise counsel'.

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**A/N: A huge thanks goes out to GabbyLeithsceal. This story is one of those things I was intending to do "one day" but I was inspired to actually get started by some of Gabby's wonderful art, and in particular her work "Winter Night", which I use (with her permission) for the story cover on this site. (I only hope the story lives up to the inspiration she provided. **** ) You can find Gabby's work on deviantART and on YouTube, where she's known as GabhMoLeithsceal. Her work is also on the Luke Goss Forum, which is where I first met Gabby.**

**Gabby is involved in the Hidden Realm Entertainment project, which is working to get Nuada a movie of his own (just think how fantastic that would be – a whole movie devoted to our favourite prince and too, imagine all the wonderful FanFiction possibilities it could open up :D ). Hidden Realms is running a petition to show fan support for the idea, and to try and convince the studios to back such a project - the talented people on the site have even put together a movie trailer. Head on over to the website, HiddenRealmEntertainment . com, to see the trailer and sign the petition, especially if you're a Prince Nuada fan and believe this movie should be made – it CAN happen with enough support ****. (The website also features Gabby's artwork, and has other neat stuff on it as well, including a fun version of Tic Tac Toe (Tic Tac Troll) and an Ask Nuada Magic Ball! )**

**Cheers  
ESSI**


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